


Living a Lie

by TamingAlice



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, FrUK, M/M, Multi, USUK - Freeform, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 05:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TamingAlice/pseuds/TamingAlice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Why are you still here-" Francis makes a sweeping gesture with one of his arms, "-when you want nothing more than to be with him?" With him. With Alfred, he means; with beautiful, wonderful Alfred who Arthur pines for and longs for and lusts for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living a Lie

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

"Why are you still here?" Francis asks him, eyebrows furrowed in the way they are when he's struggling to comprehend something, "Why are you still with me?"

Arthur starts at that, tearing his gaze away from the amber liquid trapped by his glass, "What?"

Francis sighs, running a hand swiftly through his golden tresses. It's a harsh motion, and most likely caused him some pain, but perhaps that's why Francis did it. He is standing by the fireplace in his Parisian condo, the flames casting shadows on his face that are all too fitting. He studies Arthur for a moment, brows furrowed as he searches his face.

His shoulders slump in defeat.

"Why are you still _here_ -" Francis makes a sweeping gesture with one of his arms, "-when you want nothing more than to be with _him_?"

 _With_ him _._

With Alfred, he means. With beautiful, wonderful Alfred, whom Arthur pines for, and longs for, and lusts for. Alfred, with eyes like the vast expanse of blue that blankets the world's ceiling on sunny days. Alfred, who is charming, and brave, and kind. Alfred, who is _so_ cheery, and _so_ optimistic.

Alfred, who will _never_ be his.

Arthur sets his decanter of whiskey on the table before him and leans forward, well aware that this is no longer the type of conversation that can be held whilst he is reclining lazily in one of Francis's armchairs. He pauses for a moment to consider the question, his tipsiness making everything a bit harder to handle, before replying quietly, "Would you like me to leave?"

The question only seems to increase Francis's displeasure, his fists clenching tightly as he breathes, "You really don't know me at all, _do_ you?" His handsome features become pained, lips quirking downwards as he mutters, " _I_ want nothing more than to be with _you_."

Arthur is confused by this, horribly perplexed, and completely befuddled by his oldest friend, "Then why are you asking me these questions?" The alcohol has made him less sharp, but it has made him more honest, "Why are you pushing me away?"

Francis looks at the fireplace, a long silence settling over them before he answers, "I am tired of living this lie that I have so carefully constructed; I do not want to pretend any longer." His voice is unsteady, "I _cannot_."

Arthur can understand that. He knows _all_ too well what it is like to love someone who does not return your feelings. But a part of him, that selfish, greedy part that allowed him to use Francis in this way, is _furious._ He's _furious,_ because without Francis, without a distraction (that's what his best friend has become), what will he do with himself?

That self-absorption is what compels him to ask, in a voice more soft and pitiful than any he has ever heard, "What am I going to do without you?"

But Francis knows better: he has experienced Arthur in every way there is and knows him better than anyone else. It obviously takes some effort, if the clench of his jaw means anything, but Francis manages to respond with a cold, "Wallow in self pity, no doubt."

This is the way the world ends, or at least it is the way Arthur's world ends. Alfred is unattainable, out of reach, Francis is casting him off, and there is no one else who gives a damn about him.

"How could you do this to me?" Emerald eyes are watering, and his throat closes up as he realizes just how serious things are, "I thought you loved me?"

Francis makes an odd noise, the sound far too unrefined and hoarse to be a laugh, "I do. I do love you; more than I love myself, more than life itself." Francis closes his eyes for moment, "But I can't do this anymore."

He's sobbing now, weeping bitterly because Francis is right, because he has devastated his friend emotionally, because Arthur has been a mess for years now, and without Francis, what will he do? Where will Arthur go now? How will he keep his mind off of Alfred? Perfect, lovely Alfred.

Francis watches him silently, his face completely impassive despite the hurt and sorrow in his eyes. They stay like that for a few minutes longer, one crying as the other looks on, both of them falling apart. It is Francis who finally breaks the silence.

"I want you to go." His voice is pleading, his eyes are dull, "I want you to leave and start a new life. I want you to fix yourself and be happy." Arthur nods, silent sobs wracking his body, and Francis adds, solemnly, "And I _never_ want to see you again."

Arthur wants to argue with that, wants to say something to convince Francis to change his mind, wants to tell him that he's making a mistake, but he isn't. Arthur needs to go, he needs to get away from Francis, for both of their sakes.

So he consents.

He stumbles to his feet, gathering his possessions as quickly as possible (most of the things here are Francis's; all of his things are in storage), and sets them down by the entrance. Then he returns to the living room, where Francis still stands, gazing contemplatively into the flames, and whispers his name.

Francis turns slowly, his expression so forlorn and miserable that Arthur wonders how he could have ever been alright with subjecting him to the torture of unrequited love. They stare wordlessly at one another for a few moments before Arthur asks, "If Alfred and I were together..."

He trails off, but Francis seems to understand what he means, "I would have loved you still." Arthur frowns slightly, "But it would have faded."

"Things really would be different, then." Arthur remarks, his eyes becoming glossy as he thinks of what could have been, "If Alfred hadn't died."

Francis nods, looking past the fireplace, past the bricks, past any barriers, as he replies, "Things would be completely different."

But Alfred is dead, and _nothing_ (not prayers, not pleas, not cries) will bring him back, so Arthur murmurs a quiet goodbye and walks away, cursing himself, the slow passage of time, and the man in the semi who ended Alfred's life.

The man who ended all three of their lives.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I hope you liked the twist! Until next time!


End file.
